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THE AWAKING. 



b 



THE 



AWAKING 



From the German of Theremin, 



WITH AN INTRODUCTION. 







i+s~bs- 






BOSTON : 
T. R. MARVIN & S. K. WHIPPLE & CO. 

.18 55. 



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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by 
T^jJ^asvin^ in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of 
the District of Massachusetts. 



INTRODUCTION. 



Lewis Frederick Frank Theremin, 
author of ' The Awaking/ was born in 1783, 
at Gramtzow, in the northern part of Prussia. 
He studied with his father, who was pastor 
of a French church, composed of descend- 
ants from Huguenot exiles ; afterwards at 
the French gymnasium in Berlin, and the 
University of Halle, spending one year at 
Geneva, where he was ordained in 1808. 
Two years later he was called to succeed 
the celebrated Von Ancillon in Berlin, and 
in 1815 was appointed preacher in the court 
church and cathedral, where his ministra- 
tions were in the German language. Six 
years before his death, which occurred in 



VI INTRODUCTION. 

1846, he received the appointment of pro- 
fessor of theology in the University of Berlin, 
in the department of Homiletics. 

Among his published works are, Sermons 
in eight volumes; Evening Hours; Adalbert's 
Confessions; The Doctrine of the Kingdom 
of God ; Demosthenes and Massillon; and 
a collection of poems, dialogues and theo- 
logical treatises. 

He was a man of great worth, of evan- 
gelical sentiments, and one of the most 
distinguished German preachers of the pres- 
ent century. — Bib. Sac. vol. vi. pp. 1-3. 



THE AWAKING. 

From the German of Theremin. 

Wife. Thou hast slept well ? 

Husband. As never before. Not even 
in childhood did I experience such a 
deep, soft, refreshing slumber. My old 
father — thou rememberest him well- 
when he stepped into the room in the 
morning, where we were waiting for 
him, used to say in answer to our inquiry 
how he had slept, " Like the blessed." 
Like the blessed, I might say, have I 
slept ; or rather like the blessed have I 
awakened. I feel myself new quicken- 



8 THE AWAKING, 

ed ; as if all weariness, and all need of 
sleep were gone forever. Such vigor 
is in my limbs, such elasticity in my 
movements, that I believe I could fly, if 
I w r ould. 

W. And you are pleased with this 
place ? 

H. Indeed, I must say, we have been 
in many a beautiful place together ; but 
this is wonderful and beautiful beyond 
description. What trees ! actually 
heaven high ! They bear blossoms and 
fruit together. Their branches swaying 
to the morning wind cause the tree tops 
all to give forth melody, as if a host of 
feathered singers dwelt in them. Be- 
hind the trees the mountains tower up. 
Their majestic forms rigidly defined in 
the pure air, and here and there clouds, 
glowing with all the hues of sunrise and 



THE AWAKING, 



sunset, stretch along their sides, or float 
over their summits. Upon the highest 
peak, out of a milk white, translucent, 
shimmering mist, there spring, as it 
were, the gates and towers and palaces 
of a splendid city. From this peak 
nearest us, there seems to gush a mighty 
water, which I may call a sea rather than 
a stream, aud which nevertheless leaps 
down the numerous terraces of the 
mountain, not with fearful roaring, but 
with a melodious sound. Wide about 
us are sprinkled the drops which water 
the trees and flowers, and impart a deli- 
cious coolness to the air, making it ec- 
stacy to breathe here. Look too, at this 
bank whereon we stand ! How luxuri- 
ant and how thickly strown with won- 
derful flowers ! We wander over it, 
and yet the spires of grass are not broken, 



10 THE AWAKING. 

nor are the flowers crushed by our foot- 
steps. It is a solitary place ; yet on all 
sides vistas open to us, and the horizon 
tempts us ever further and further on. 

W. Hast thou seen all this often be- 
fore, or dost thou see it to-day for the 
first time ? 

H. Notwithstanding all is so home- 
like to me here, and though every thing 
greets me as something long beloved, 
yet when I think of it, I must say, No, 
I have never been here before. 

W. And dost thou not wonder to see 
me again at thy side ? 

H. Indeed, and hast thou not some- 
how, always been near me ? 

W. In a certain sense, I have ; but in 
another not so. It is long since thine 
eyes have seen me. I disappeared from 
them once. 



THE AWAKING. 11 

H. Ah! now there sweeps over my 
memory as it were a dark cloud — days 
of anxiety, and nights spent in weeping 
— only the painful thoughts and emo- 
tions which so recently absorbed me. 
Now they elude my grasp, I cannot dis- 
tinctly comprehend them, they appear 
to me something mysterious. 

W. Think on the fourteenth of Feb- 
ruary. 

H. How, now it is all clear to me. 
It was near noon. Four days hadst 
thou been sick. We had feared much 
for thee, but still had hope. Suddenly 
a faintness came over thee ; thou didst 
lean thy head upon my breast ; didst 
sink back with a deep sigh ; thou diedst, 
— yes, it is all over, thou art dead. 

W. I am dead ; yet see, I live. 



12 THE AWAKING. 

H. If thou art dead, and if I see thee, 
then do I really dream ? 

W. Thou dreamest not, for thou art 
awake. 

H. Or, art thou sent down from hea- 
ven to earth, that I should see thee again 
for a short time, and then anew through 
long years lament thy disappearance ? 

W. No, henceforth we shall never 
separate. I am indeed sent to thee, but 
not down upon the earth. Look around 
thee here ; where upon earth hast thou 
seen such trees, such waters ? Look at 
thyself ; thou didst go about yonder, 
bowed beneath the weight of years. 
Now thou art young again. Thou dost 
not walk, thou floatest ; thine eyes not 
only see, but see immeasurably far. 
Look inward upon thyself; has it 
always been with thy heart as now? 



THE AWAKING. 13 

H. Within me is a deep, unfathoma- 
ble, ever-swelling, and yet entirely still 
and peaceful sea. Yes, when I look 
about me here, and when I feel thy 
hand in mine — then I must say I am 
blessed, I am in heaven. 

W. Thou art. 

H. And then must I be actually 
dead ? 

W. Thou art. Hast thou not lain 
sick in that very chamber where I died, 
and whither thou didst long to be 
brought. Has not thy son, day and 
night, without leaving thy side, sincerely 
and tenderly nursed thee ? Hast thou 
not by day and night found open the 
blue eye of thy daughter, in which she 
vainly strove to hold back the forth- 
welling tears ? Was there not then a 
deep mist, and utter darkness spread 



14 THE AWAKING. 

over the faces of thy children, and over 
every thing around thee ? 

H. I am dead ! Lord of life and 
death, upon my knees I thank thee that 
thou hast fulfilled this so great thing in 
me — that thou hast led me to such high 
happiness — to such great honor ; dead, 
and happy to be dead ! Thou knowest, 
O Lord, how often that moment stood 
before me ; how often I have prayed that 
thou thyself, since I was not able to do 
it, wouldst prepare me for that hour; 
that thou wouldst send me a soft, blessed 
death. Now, O Lord, that thou hast 
heard this, as all my other prayers, thou 
hast, in this, as in all things, eternally 
shown thyself gracious and pitiful. 
What stood before me is now over. 
Truly, though dead, I have not yet 
learned exactly what death is ; but this 



THE AWAKING. 15 

much I know, death is sweet. As one 
bears a sleeping child out of a dark 
chamber into a bright spring garden, so 
hast thou borne me from earth to heaven. 
But now, loved one, hold me no longer 
back. 

W. Whither wouldst thou go ? 

H. Canst thou ask ? To whom else 
but to Him ? All is beautiful and love- 
ly here ; these trees, these flowers, this 
down streaming water, this coolness, 
which breathes over flowers and trees 
and deep into my heart ; thyself, thy 
presence which after so long a separa- 
tion, after so many tears, I enjoy again ; 
but not even all this satisfies me. 
Himself I must see. Let him adorn his 
heaven as beautifully as he may, that 
cannot compensate for the loss of his 
presence. What was impossible he has 



16 THE AWAKING. 

made possible ; so long, so unweariedly, 
so faithfully has he worked in me, that 
I might be capable of bliss ! Even before 
I was born he chose me. Where is the 
little earth ? Yonder it spins, how far 
from here. In what darkness it is veiled. 
I would not again return to it. He has 
condescended to go down thither, has 
trod its dust with his sacred feet, has 
endured hunger and thirst, has died. 
Ah ! he will quicken my vision, that I 
may pierce deeper than heretofore the 
abyss of his death-pains. There he won 
me for his own ; and, that I, his dearly 
purchased one, should not again be lost 
to him, he has from my earliest years 
given me his ceaseless care. Much that 
he has done for me have I already learn- 
ed upon the earth, now I know more ; 
and I shall know still more in the future, 



THE AWAKING. 17 

when together we recount the whole. 
But now I have no time for this. Emo- 
tion within me is too strong ; my heart 
will burst ; I must away to him, see 
him, thank him — if I am capable of 
thanking him — if in this overpowering 
bliss, thanksgiving be not swallowed up. 

W. Thou wilt see him, but not until 
he comes to thee. Until then be pa- 
tient. I am sent to thee, to tell thee 
that such is his will. 

H. Now I know for a certainty that I 
am in heaven, for my will yields itself 
inplicitly to his without a struggle. I 
had thought it wholly insupportable not 
to see Him here. Yet I not only bear 
it, but bear it cheerfully. He wills this, 
I will it also. Other than this seems 
now impossible to me. So readily could 
we not submit below. But if thou art 
2 



18 THE AWAKING. 

sent to me from Him, then must He 
have spoken with thee. He has already 
spoken many words with thee ? 

W. Already many. 

H. O thou truly blessed one ! Canst 
thou tell how it was with thee, when he 
for the first time spake with thee ? 

W. As it has been in my heart each 
following time. I am using an earthly 
language with thee, in which these 
things cannot be described. 

H. As thou sawest him for the first 
time, didst thou instantly recognize 
him? 

W. Instantly. 

H. How ? — By that particular glory 
in which he outshines all angels ? 

W. He has no need to clothe himself 
in splendor ; we know him without 
that. 



THE AWAKING. 19 

H. Dost thou mean thatl will imme- 
diately recognize Him, without any one 
saying to me, That is He ? 

W. Thine own heart will tell thee. 

H. How will he really seem to me, 
severe or gentle ? Below, when I cried 
to him out of the darkness of my earth- 
life, he often answered me with stern- 
ness. 

W. There, below, He is constrained 
to do this with his best beloved. Here, 
it is no longer necessary ; here there is 
no need that he should do violence to his 
own heart ; He can give free expression 
to his love. This love is infinite ; on 
earth we could not fathom it, as little 
can we do so here. 

H. Do there exist among you here, 
differences in glory and blessedness ? 

W. In endless degrees ; but then the 



20 



THE AWAKING, 



highest are even as the most lowly; so 
they stoop down to the humblest. And 
this does he require of them ; for He 
who ranks above the highest, is himself 
the humblest of all. So, then, these 
diversities become swallowed up, and 
Ave are all one in Him. 

H. Lo, I have often thought me, if I 
only reach heaven, only dwell not with 
the enemies of the Lord, I shall be con- 
tent to be the very least of all there. 
Thou, methought, wouldst soar in a 
much higher circle, and our children 
also when they left the earth. But then 
if only once in a thousand years, I might 
be counted worthy to see the Lord — 
still methought it would be enough for 
me. 

W. Be trustful. Whom He receives 
He receives to glory. Knowest thou 



THE AWAKING. 21 

not by what wonderful way He has 
called us in his word ? 

H. Well do I know all that, and I 
see with what glory and honor He has 
crowned thee. Between thine imasre in 
thy last sickness, and that which now 
stands revealed to me ; between that 
perishable flower, and the heavenly 
blossom — what a difference ! No, this 
bloom upon thy cheek can never fade ; 
this light in thine eyes can never be 
dimmed ; thy form shall never bear the 
impress of age. Thus ever wilt thou 
wander about with me here, thou wilt 
show me the glory of these heavenly 
mansions, and also wilt lead me to those 
other blessed ones who are dear to me. 

W. Thou wilt see them as soon as 
thou hast seen the Lord. 

H. How delightful was it of old when 



22 THE AWAKING. 

we sought our aged father in his cot. 
Our carriage rolled up ; all came run- 
ning out before the house, and among 
the whole troop we sought first his dear, 
honored countenance. How much more 
delightful to see him here ! He whom 
the smallest favor filled with thanks to 
the giver, who could find beauty in a 
single spire of grass, who smiled at a 
brighter sunbeam, who went forth so 
joyfully under the starry heavens, and 
adored the Creator of these worlds — 
what must he experience here, where 
the wonders of Omnipotence lie all open 
and unveiled before him ! He who in 
the silent joy of his heart thanked the 
Lord for his beneficence, and for the 
least refreshing which was granted him 
on his weary earth-way — what thanks 
will he now pour forth to his Redeemer. 



THE AWAKING. 23 

11 We shall meet again," he said to me 
in his last sickness, as he pressed my 
hand with all his remaining strength, 
" We shall meet again, and together 
thank God for his grace." 

W. Thou wilt soon see him, and thy 
mother, also. 

H. My mother who loved me with 
such unspeakable tenderness, and whom 
I have never known ! I was but three 
years old when I lost her. As she lay 
upon her death-bed, and I was playing 
in the garden before the house, " What 
will become of my poor child?" she 
cried. Good mother ! all that a man can 
be, thy son has become — an inhabitant of 
heaven. Through the grace of God has 
this been effected, and also by the help 
of thy prayers. Is it not so ? 

W. It is even so. I have often spoken 



24 THE AWAKING. 

of thee with thy father and mother. 
H. Is X** here? 

W. Yes. 

H. I had not expected it. That, how- 
ever, was wrong ; why am I here? But 
the dear souls whom I left behind me 
on earth, I would have some tidings of 
them ; or is the perception of them lost 
to us until the moment of re-union ? 

W. This question thou mayest speed- 
ily answer for thyself. Look thither. 

H. I do so; but I see nothing. 

W. Look longer in this direction — 
and you will surely see. Dost thou see 
now ? 

H. Perfectly. The place is familiar 
to me. It is the church-yard, where I 
placed thy mortal part, which was given 
back to the earth. The place became 
dear to me ; I often sought it, and kneel- 



THE AWAKING. 25 

ing upon the grave, raised my eyes 
hitherward to heaven, where we both 
are now. Among beautiful trees and 
flowers, I thought, may she be wander- 
ing there, among trees and flowers shall 
her body rest here. So a flower-garden 
and a wilderness of blossoms sprung 
up, and every beautiful thing which the 
anniversary brought with it, adorned 
thy grave. 

W. I knew it well. Look thither- 
ward now. What seeest thou ? 

H. Near thy grave another is open. 
The church-yard gate stands open, a 
corpse is borne forward ; our children 
follow. Do ye weep, loved hearts, weep 
so bitterly ? Could ye see us as we see 
you, ye would not weep, or at the most 
only for longing. The body — my body 
— is lowered; now they cast a handful 



26 THE AWAKING. 

of dust upon the coffin. The grave is 
closed, now rests my dust by thine. Go 
home now, ye loved ones, and may the 
foretaste of that heavenly peace which 
we enjoy, glide to your souls. But re- 
turn hitherward often, and seek the grave 
of your old parents. When ye meet 
and pray there, we will be near you, and 
bring you heavenly gifts from the Lord. 
Henceforth take his hand as ye go. He 
will guide you safely ; your old parents 
have proved this ! And one day will 
he bring us all together again. 

W. Amen. Thus it will surely be. 

H. Hearest thou those sounds? What 
may it be? Strange and wonderful, 
like the mingled roaring of the sea, and 
sweetest flute notes, they come from 
that quarter, and float through the wide 
heaven. Hark ! now from the other side 



THE AWAKING. 27 

melody arises, a wholly different note^ 
and yet just as strange and enrapturing. 
What may it be ? 

W. They are angel choirs, which 
from immeasurable distance answer one 
another. 

H. What do they sing ? 

W. Ever of One, who is the theme 
of eternal and ceaseless praise. 

H. For some time already a form 
moves about there. 

W. Observe it more closely ; and then 
tell me why it attracts thee so. 

H. Pardon me, who am so lately 
called from the earth, an earthly, child- 
ish comparison. At the home where I 
was born — thou knowest it well, though 
at the time thou wast no longer upon 
earth — I had planted a garden. As the 



28 THE AWAKING. 

spring came, I devoted myself to its cul- 
tivation, and enjoyed myself over my 
plants, and their beautiful nnfoldings. 
There were many trees there, much 
shrubbery, and many flowers ; yet I 
knew every shoot ; I had myself planted 
and watered it ; each in its turn came 
under my inspection, and when it put 
on its bright green, and blossomed beau- 
tifully and grew thriftily, then found I 
a heart-friend in it. Thus seems to me 
that man to be the gardener in this 
heavenly garden. He moves hither and 
thither quietly, and in mildest radiance ; 
but one can see that every thing here is 
familiar to him. He casts around on 
all besides a satisfied and friendly glance, 
and appears to find joy in all creation 
here. My heart! till this moment I have 



THE AWAKING. 29 

felt within me only soft, soothing emo- 
tions ; but now a tempest is rising in my 
breast ; I am dizzy ; heaven with its 
glory vanishes from my sight ; I see Him 
alone. Now pain returns again to this 
heart ; yet in this pain there lives a 
higher blessedness. My soul burns with 
longing to approach Him. Yes, He is 
indeed one known to me, though never 
before seen face to face. Now he turns 
hitherward, and looks upon us. He ap- 
pears to rejoice over us. His eyes glis- 
ten with tears of joy. I can no longer 
restrain myself, I must away to Him. I 
must say to Him, that I love Him as I 
never loved aught before. He raises his 
hands — how ? in those hands a mark, 
and from the mark rays darting forth ? 
Yes, those are the pierced, the bleeding 
hands. He blesses us ! Deep in my 



30 THE AWAKING. 

heart I feel his blessing. Now know I 
that I am in Heaven ! Now know I 
that this is He ! 

W. Away, then, to Him. 



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